


Subtleties

by l_aurel



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Banter, Enemies, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Male Friendship, Subtext, Swordfighting, Swords, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_aurel/pseuds/l_aurel
Summary: The line has been there since the day that they first clashed swords, and yet they continue to dance on its edge, threatening to overstep it with each passing night.
Relationships: Jin/Mugen (Samurai Champloo)
Kudos: 11





	Subtleties

**Author's Note:**

> What? Homoromantic subtext in my Samurai Champloo fanfiction? Absurd.

Over the course of three hours, Jin and Fuu watched as Mugen’s movements became more and more sluggish. Nighttime began to settle, a chill swoop of shadows falling over the blossoming landscape. Ragged breathing tore away at the peacefulness that the rustling wildflowers and croaking toads provided. Jin sipped at his cup of berry water, chuckling under his breath as Fuu outright laughed, pointing with a mocking forefinger as Mugen’s sword slipped from his grip, too far buried into a chipped tree to be retrieved with ease.

The training continued for twenty more minutes. When Mugen collapsed upon the ground, the sweltering red sun finally reaching the black horizon behind him, Jin set his cup down. Fuu had already left by then, gathering her things to go enjoy the spring that’s they’re found earlier that morning. He uncrossed his legs, rising. He approached his rival, slightly undoing his haori, letting his sweat-damp skin breathe as it slid down his shoulders. Even sitting in the shade of the abandoned shack that they’d found had been grueling.

”You weren’t doing your best today,” Jin noted, voice soft and monotone as he looked down a Mugen, who gave an aggressive huff and pulled his shoulders upwards to face him.

”Yeah, no shit,” he snapped, scowling with a few glints of teeth exposed like the stray mutt that he was. “Couldn’t see anythin’. It’s like everything was fucking fuzzy. Maybe I’m going blind.”

Jin crouched down, delicately reaching a hand out. He pressed it to Mugen’s heated forehead, pushing the wet strands that clung to it out of his dark eyes. “Have you considered cutting your hair?” he asked, curling a finger around one particularly lengthy lock. It was slightly kinky, and dirty in a way that only somebody as filthy as Mugen could manage. Jin’s hair was longer, falling past his waist when let it flow freely, but the difference was that he actually took care of it.

”Maybe you should let me borrow one of those hair ties,” Mugen replied with a lopsided smirk, curling his fist around Jin’s lowhanging ponytail and giving it a cruel yank. He sighed, but didn’t move an inch, even as Mugen angrily furrowed his brow and gave it a sharper tug. “Ah, whatever.”

”I’ll cut it for you,” Jin offered.

Before Mugen can crudely funnel the confused expression painted across his scuffed features through his mouth, Fuu’s cheery voice rang through the darkness. They turned their heads, watching as the young girl waved to them from the doorway. “I’ll be gathering some berries before going to bed! I’ll get enough to make a good tea this time!” she called out, ducking inside to quickly grab a small basket. Jin and Mugen exchanged a swift look before identical sighs left their lips.

”Alright, do what you gotta do, four-eyes. But fuck it up and I’m shoving this sword right up your ass,” he snarled. Roughly, he pressed his blade to Jin’s swan-like throat before he groaned. It clattered to the dusty ground at their feet. “Cramp.”

The windless night bode well for the small lanterns that they set up near the edge of the spring. Jin eased himself into the clean water, closing his eyes at its cold nip. When his ornamental glasses had been set off to the side, protectively slid between two rocks, he undid his hair, letting it fall down his bare shoulders. It cascaded over his bruised collarbones like an obsidian waterfall, glints of silver moonlight catching in the strands as he ran Fuu’s comb through them.

With a splash, Mugen’s head broke the water’s surface, sending an arc of droplets that splattered against Jin’s face. He looked back at his rival with a cocked brow, running scarred fingers through his hair, only to get it caught in small, clumped knots. “What now?”

”Come here.” Jin opened his eyes, watching as Mugen waded over and settled down on the smooth pebbles beside him. A small burst of surprise expanded within his chest, eyes widening slightly at how easily Mugen leaned his head into Jin’s open palm. A vague twitch that could be interpreted as a soft smile graced his lips, though it quickly faded, nothing more than a minute shift.

Jin started from the bottom and worked his way up. It was a long process, but one that he easily fell into the rhythm of. Lightly, he’d run his long fingers through a patch of hair, doing so until it got caught. Mugen would shift then, the strong muscles in his shoulders tensing as his scalp was pulled at. Jin would work the comb in, pulling from the skin out, teasing it through the knots that riddled his rival’s unruly mane. Once free, he’d run the comb completely through once or twice, making sure that no tangles remained before he moved on.

After a few final passes that smoothed his wet hair down from the crown of his head, Mugen tipped his head back, staring at Jin with a half-lidded gaze. Unlike himself, he quietly asked, “What’re you gonna cut it with?”

He let his gaze linger on the silver that laid upon the sharp cut of Mugen’s jaw before reaching over the spring’s lip. He exchanged the delicate, floral comb for his blade, an action that finally roused Mugen from his quiet stupor. “Hey,” he snapped, gaze widened. A rough, calloused hand fell upon his shoulder, uneven nails lightly biting at his pale skin. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” Jin reassured, monotone. He unsheathed the blade with a metallic scrape, turning his head to face Mugen and his usual scowl.

“Don’t try anythin’ funny.”

He cast Mugen a disapproving look, setting the sheathe down and properly turning around. “That would be cheap and dishonorable of me,” he said, damp fingers curling tightly around the hilt. That’s when he hesitated, taking a deep breath, only to exhale a sound of disappointment. “You’ve haven’t been. . .” A pause. A lengthy one. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Your training today. . . You would’ve never let yourself be so sloppy.”

”You know. . .” Mugen turned, letting the slight pokes of his vertebrae face Jin as he slumped down. He often did this when he was tired, but this held a meloncholic edge to it, one that fell bitterly upon Jin’s tongue. “Nevermind. Start chopping before I do it myself.”

They hung a latern up on the side of the wall where the bulbous moon cast the most rays down. Underneath a clash of muted gold and sharp silver, Jin carefully handled his blade, holding Mugen’s half-dry hair taut before pressing the edge up. The strands easily sliced in half without much effort. Soon, the grass was littered with small, fuzzy clumps. Mugen barely paid attention to them, instead favoring to sit at a bent angle with his hands clasping his knees.

These days, Jin was finding that his silence was less because of willfulness and more because he didn’t know what words he could, or should, slide into the waiting silence. He looked over the rim of his glasses, loosely cupping the right of Mugen’s face to turn his head. His rival obliged, and Jin refocused his attention to the uneven lengths of hair. Every so often, the blade would linger a few inches from Mugen’s eye, but he wouldn’t blink, instead staring past it and at the murky forest.

As Jin leaned away, Mugen finally seemed to slip back into reality, pulling his happi up and brushing away the loose bits of hair that clung to it. He nudged at the clumps stuck in the grass with bare feet as Jin stood, sheathing his blade. The shadows stretched between them, Jin quietly walking into the abandoned shed while Mugan flopped onto his back, hand outstretched towards the flowing river of stars that hung in the dark sky above.

Fuu was asleep on the ground, a woven basket filled to the brim with berries nestled against her chest. He unwrapped her arms from around it, tucking the thin blanket that they’d pawned off a passerby in the village underneath her chin. The young girl murmured under her breath, a sleepy string of nonsensical words that made Jin remain, squatted by her side like a loyal mutt. Being her bodyguard truly made him feel like one.

As he turned to leave, the door was pulled open wider. Mugen’s silhouette graced the doorway, a stark outline against the moonlit backdrop. Jin’s hands instinctively fell to his sword, knees bending as he dropped down into his usual stance. Mugen’s arm shuddered slightly, unable to properly bear the weight of his weapon. Regardless, he said, “Let’s finish this. Right here, right now. One of us dies and the other can leave.”

”We made a promise,” Jin uselessly reminded, knowing that his words would be nothing more than kindle to light the swirling inferno within his opponent. His gaze narrowed as Mugen laughed to himself, arm dropping. The sword’s tip sliced into the ground with relative ease, coming to a stop half-stuck within a dandelion bud. Jin stared at the flower as Mugen trampled it underfoot, crushing the faded yellow out of existence. Only a few wet smears remained on the underside of his wooden sandal as a small reminder that would soon be forgotten by the both of them.

A heartbeat passed. “Goodnight, Mugen.”

“Goodnight, four-eyes.”


End file.
